


Good Girl

by Meadowlarkwrites



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol, Based off the music video for Good Girl by Aquilo, Drugs, Implied Masturbation, Kind of a songfic, M/M, No Means No, Priest-in-training!America, Punk!England, USUK - Freeform, a little bit of noncon but it doesn't go far, criticism is appreciated, heavy religious themes, how did I write about sex and drugs without cursing, i can't even remember if anyone curses, should I tag cursing, some other background characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 15:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10597311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meadowlarkwrites/pseuds/Meadowlarkwrites
Summary: Alfred spares himself a moment of lust, promising he'd beg forgiveness later.This man has chlorine-green hair, piled atop his head like straw. Alfred wonders just how many products he used. His face is feminine, but the impression is offset by the largest set of eyebrows Alfred has ever seen. He wears a dark leather jacket, and a tight pair of darker skinny jeans. Even though Alfred couldn't get a good glimpse at his ass, he knew they must hug the stranger tightly and perfectly.Alfred really shouldn't be thinking like this. He'd have to relent during confessions.((Based off the music video for Good Girl by Aquilo))





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based off the music video for the song Good Girl by Aquilo. Sort of a songfic. You can watch it at https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=EpFwCKlSTwE. I recommend watching it after the story is over, though. It contains spoilers.  
> The song at the beginning is I Hear the Saviour Say, and the prayer at the end is The Lord's Prayer, a combined version of my two most recent church's prayers.   
> This story will also contain religious themes, implied masturbation, mentions of drugs and alcohol, and at one point sex that neither wants. No means no, so nothing actually happens. Please keep that in mind before reading. There is also very light implied abuse, but you'd have to squint.  
> (I did like zero editing so point out but don't judge grammar mistakes, tense change, or other stuff like that)  
> Finally, any criticism or questions are greatly appreciated. Please enjoy!

 " _I hear the Saviour say,_  
_Thy strength indeed is small,_  
_Child of weakness, watch and pray,_  
_Find in Me thine all in all._ "

Matthew holds the last note, and Alfred decides he has had enough. The boy spins around with a glare.

"Ya know Matthew, it's all your stupid singing that's got us lost in the first place!" And with that, Alfred spins around again, his suitcase bumping through the grass behind him. He strides away without so much as a glance back at his cousin. His feet hurt and his uniform is rubbing him in all the wrong places, because there wasn't a hand me down in his size.

Matthew doesn't reply. He doesn't say anything for a while, until the two finally happen upon a road, and a truck stop. Alfred's wallet is empty, he thinks sadly, with a glance at the food inside.

He shouldn't give in to temptation.

"I'm going to ask in the store," he says suddenly, and finally turns to Matthew. The taller man is fumbling through his bag until he pulls out a map, struggling to unfold it.

"Just, wait a minute, let me have a look at the map."

"Screw the fucking map!" Alfred's hands fly up. Matthew flinches, and Alfred feels awful, but he was never very good at controlling his temper.

Matthew seems to get over his shock and blinks back tears. "Tomorrow's like the biggest day of our lives. You should be thankful, and gratef-"

"Where is it you're trying to get to?"

Both boys glance across the road. A man leans against a car that looks like its definition of 'better days' was a junk yard. Alfred spares himself a moment of lust, promising he'd beg forgiveness later.  
This man has chlorine-green hair, piled atop his head like straw. Alfred wonders just how many products he used. His face is feminine, but the impression is offset by the largest set of eyebrows Alfred has ever seen. He wears a dark leather jacket, and a tight pair of darker skinny jeans. Even though Alfred couldn't get a good glimpse at his ass, he knew they must hug the stranger tightly and perfectly.

Alfred really shouldn't be thinking like this. He'd have to relent during confessions.

Matthew, however, is eyeing the man's piercings and tattoos with disdain and judgement.

"The top of Vailden," he replies, but it sounds more like a question.

"Well you're at the bottom, here. It's about twenty minutes up there." Alfred notices, with a warm feeling in his gut, that the man has a deep voice. And an accent. "I'm going that way. I could give you a lift if you like."

Matthew and Alfred look up the road, pain in their eyes at the thought of more walking. "You said your legs were aching," hisses Alfred under his breath.

"No way, Alfred," Matthew shoots back, his grip tightening around his own suitcase.

Alfred takes a deep breath, looking to the stranger with want. "It's alright. I don't bite," the man says, and he tacks a small laugh on the end. It turns Alfred's legs to jelly.

He gains enough control of his sinful body to send a glare Matthew's way, and then march across the road with his chin in the air. The stranger seems confused. "Is your pal coming? Or are you going to leave him behind?"

Another glare towards Matthew, who stomps a foot before grabbing his things and crossing the road as well. Alfred knows he'll get an earful, later.

 

 

Alfred's fingers clutch the cross around his neck. He massages the patterns engraved into the metal, and mouths the words to a prayer under his breath. "Dear Lord, give me strength." Arthur's eyes keep finding his in the mirror, and Alfred is ashamed to admit his linger. He's never seen eyes so green, before.

Then he sees Matthew in the back seat, his mouth set in a thin line and his back straight, and Alfred's eyes are back on the road for just a moment before sliding back to the mirror.

Arthur makes light conversation to both his guests as Alfred searches through the radio. It's old, and clunky, and he can't find a station that doesn't sing about sex or drugs or curses. Eventually he settles on a rock station that Arthur insists is his favourite. He thanks God Matthew doesn't comment.

The ride is boring, and Alfred finds himself doing the silliest of things to get Arthur's attention. He digs through the glove box in front of him and finds a pair of sunglasses. A look in the mirror says they look darn good on him.

He grins back at Matthew, whose eyes almost look on fire. Only one person can glare better than Matthew, and that's his own father. Alfred's smile falters, but Arthur quickly grabs his attention again with a pretty smelling candle.

Arthur's smiles only send more tingles between Alfred's legs, and he grins back as Arthur tells stories of stupidly mundane things.  
  
It seems too soon when the steeple of a church rolls into view. Alfred doesn't want to leave, his face pleading and his fingers finding Arthur's between their seats. He squeezes the man's hand, before all three step out.

Arthur helps Matthew with the suitcases, but only gets icy quips of replies in return. Matthew flinches when their hands accidentally touch, and Arthur looks incredibly uncomfortable. Alfred grabs his bags with an easy grin, winking at Arthur from behind the stolen sunglasses.

Matthew grabs his wrist and pulls him towards the church. Alfred pouts.

When he turns around to wave goodbye, Arthur is looking longingly back. His eyes roam Alfred's body in a way that makes him feel dirty but not in a bad way, and then his eyes are on Alfred's. Alfred feels bad for leading him on, but with Matthew's back turned, there's no problem with blowing a kiss.

It's alright to sin. He'll allow himself one day to think of Arthur touching him, holding him, pressing kiss after kiss to his neck and then trailing down. But that's it, and then Alfred is in love with and belonging to his Saviour.

Arthur frowns at the kiss, and doesn't catch it. Alfred spins back around, following Matthew into their new home.

 

 

Arthur finds a postcard in his car. Find your way back to Jesus!, it shouts at him. A smile ghosts his lips. What a strange man he'd met.

 

 

That night, Alfred sneaks off. He can't stop thinking of Arthur. His fantasies are growing more and more worrying, and now he has a problem to take care of. He is ashamed as he thinks of the man. He hates himself as he touches places he's never touched before, hasn't been allowed to touch. And as he whispers Arthur's name, Alfred prays, begs forgiveness harder than ever before. He feels disgusting.

It might be alright, if it's only one day. But the whole week, Alfred finds himself thinking of Arthur. The way his thin lips curl at the ends and no further, and the way his badly bleached and dyed hair frames his face. He thinks of holding him and being held back, and finds the need to sneak off more than once.

Every time Alfred promises God is the last. Every time he knows he's lying.

 

 

At the end of the worst week of his life, Alfred stays up past curfew. He frowns at Matthew, sleeping soundly in the bed next to his, as the soft light from a lamp illuminates his face.

He tries not to think about the sin he is committing towards his cousin, himself, his God. If he thinks too much, then he'll never know what the night could have been. He dresses quickly in his uniform, the only clothes he owned, and combs back his hair in a way he's been told makes him look attractive. Before he leaves, he grabs his cross, rubbing the familiar metal softly before placing it around his neck.

He nearly breaks a leg jumping from the window, but Arthur is there to catch him when he stumbles, and Alfred feels his heart stop when a hand ghosts against his lower back.

He offers a anxious smile to Arthur, who looks just as nervous. He still tries to make certain that this is what Alfred wants.

Alfred messes up his hair in the car. He looks too professional. Arthur is laughing and talking, and the both ask each other so many questions that neither gets any answers. Arthur takes him to an empty restaurant, the only one open in the small town, and their hands touch again while Arthur warns him about the ketchup. Arthur's fingers are calloused.

Arthur is practically covered in tattoos. They trail up his arms, to his chin, and Arthur lifts his shirt to show off those printed on his chest. Alfred's eyes glance lower than they should. He bites his lip. Arthur asks about the cross.

Alfred isn't able to tell him, because a man slams against the glass wall next to their table. He has pure white hair, and red eyes that cause Alfred to reach for the comforting metal at his chest. Arthur only grins in return, and the devil man leads his group in through the entrance.

They are all dressed like Arthur, but with far more skin showing. They introduce themselves to Alfred, teaching him complicated handshakes and laughing at his nervousness. It doesn't seem mean, though, the laughter. Someone kisses his hand. Alfred feels at home, until he smells alcohol drifting faintly on the breaths of many. He is uncomfortable again, and most of the attention is turned again to Arthur.

They order more food, and their laughter fills up the small room. Alfred briefly wonders the time, but then he is being pulled with the crowd back to Arthur's car.

He finds himself in the back seat, between a man who never speaks, a girl with hardly anything covering on her chest sitting on his lap, and someone whose gender he isn't entirely sure of. Somehow, bottles of alcohol are produced, and his seat mates chug like it's the end of the world. Alfred doesn't drink. He tries to tell them, but the genderless one only laughs and presses the bottle to his lips. Alfred tips it back, tears coming to his eyes at the sharp tastes and the way it burned his throat.

He doesn't cry, though, because the others in the car cheer him. Arthur laughs. Alfred drinks more. He finds the social butterfly in him and begins talking a mile a minute, but it doesn't matter, because everyone else is talking.

Soon they are dancing to the rock blasting over Arthur's speakers, and Alfred really isn't sure how much he drank. He doesn't even think about it while the windows roll down and people scream out into the quiet world.

He finds himself at an unfamiliar house, with unfamiliar people, but Alfred is having too much fun to question it. Funny smelling smoke hangs in the air and makes it hard to see much of anything. More drinks are passed around.

Arthur has lost his jacket somewhere. Alfred appreciates the man's muscles. They look amazing on his small frame. The man only looks better as he moves to the music. His body seems to flow while he rocks his hips in a way that sends heat rushing down Alfred's body. Arthur pulls him close, moving against him, and Alfred has the biggest grin on his face while he dances. He's pulled away several times, by people so incredibly different to what he's used to, but Arthur always finds a way to grab him back.

As more people join what could be called a dance floor, Arthur miraculously finds an empty couch and a badly made cigarette. He pulls Alfred next to him, their thighs touching, and presses the paper to Alfred's lips.

 

 

Alfred is amazed by the amount of men kissing men or girls kissing girls and people who seemed to be neither one dancing like they don't care. He's made more friends than in his entire life, and one pulls him away.

This person's hair is longer, they're wearing a skirt, their voice is high, and they speak like the girls Alfred wasn't allowed to hang out with. They pull at his jacket and open the closet. Alfred gets the picture and strips away his uniform, the one given to him by the Church. His blazer lays forgotten on a chair while he quickly unbuttons his shirt.

His friend tosses him a sheer wife beater, and Alfred is more than happy to try it on. They nod in approval, a smirk dancing across their lips, and find Alfred a pair of skinny jeans that sit low on his waist. The belts don't do much to help, as they sag off his hips. Alfred tries a smile, but his friend only frowns and reaches into their purse.

 

 

Alfred emerges with dark under eyeliner, and his hair has been mussed in every direction. He loses his friend. The party didn't stop without him, and that's somehow surprising, but then a bottle is pressed into his hand and the crowd leads him back to Arthur.

Arthur is splayed across a couch, a strange glass bottle pressed to his lips. He breaths in, and Alfred wants to be the one making Arthur's eyelashes flutter like that. He wants to be the source of such pleasure, such ecstasy. He wants to try the sweet smelling smoke the bottle produced, and he coughs as it filled his lungs.

There is more dancing, and Arthur seems to get more handsy every time they hit the floor. His mind is cloudy, and Alfred is finding it hard to focus. He doesn't mind as calloused fingers flutter south, instead bucking his hips against Arthur's and laughing loudly. He feels free.

Arthur's lips taste like alcohol and sweet smoke and traces of the pizza they'd shared what seemed like years ago. Their teeth clash with inexperience and the haze of a drunken hour. Arthur's tongue finds its way into his mouth and Alfred is moaning, and Arthur's fingers loop into the belt loops of his borrowed jeans as the man pulls him away from the other dancers.

Nobody notices the men as they fall through the door of a bedroom. They don't notice anything but each other's skin. Arthur is holding Alfred and pushing him into the soft bed. Alfred wonders where his shirt has gone. Both of their shirts.

Arthur steals his attention with a kiss behind his ear, and then he trails down with his teeth. Alfred moans. This is everything he wanted. Everything he wants.

Hands make their way to his pants as Arthur distracts him with his mouth. Fingers far too nimble for such a drunk man unzip and pull, and suddenly the metal against Alfred's chest seems to burn. He isn't sure whether the feeling is cold or warm, but he pushes Arthur away.

He pushes the man away and stands, making to leave, but Arthur looks so scared. Apologetic. Regretful. Alfred feels terrible, but because he let himself do this. He shouldn't be here. He's strayed from the Light and

And Arthur's arms are around him. He whispers apology after apology and promises all sorts of things that Alfred doubts. Alfred doesn't realise he's crying until his eyes begin to burn. The calloused fingers that had been making him hot now gently played with his hair, trying to push it back to his usual style.

Alfred is so, so tired. Arthur leads him out of the room and away from that house. He never lets go of Alfred's hand and Alfred is so, so thankful because he isn't sure what he'd do without him. Arthur helps him into the car, and Alfred doses, his head against Arthur's shoulder while the man presses gentle kisses to his head.

Slowly, Arthur's hand squeezing his for comfort, Alfred sits back up. He looks around the car like everything is new. And in the backseat, the stupid map. It was left in the car. He looks towards Arthur, and the man only nods his assurance.

Alfred's grin is back, and he stands up with little regard for safety. The skylight is open, and they race down the highway at speeds that whip his hair about his head. Alfred screams, like the strangers had in the car to the party, and it feels amazing. He holds the map to the wind and rips it to pieces, never once closing his mouth as he curses out the world and everyone in it.

Arthur kisses him when he finally sits back down.

 

 

The sun smiles over the horizon when Alfred is home. Arthur has somehow gotten his blazer, and Alfred puts the wife beater back on. He slings the blazer over his shoulder and grins at Arthur, one last time. Arthur holds him close, kisses his cheek, and then Alfred turns away. He walks right up to his home.

He washes away the makeup and the alcohol and the smoke in the shower that night. The clothes from that night are packed into a box and thrown away. He feels clean.

Arthur finds a cross in his car. Alfred is already long gone. He frowns, caresses it, and hangs it on the mirror.

 

 

Matthew pulls back Alfred's hair, gel worked through his fingers. His fingers are soft. He's humming.  
Alfred smiles. He pulls on a black cloak, puts on the white collar. He looks at the room for the last time, and closes the door.

 

 

 "  _Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Your name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And bring us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For Thine is the power, and the glory, and the Heaven. Amen._ "

**Author's Note:**

> After writing this, I realised I wanted to go in a completely different direction. However, the fact that I was able to write this much is already amazing. I tried to rewrite, but couldn't find the motivation. Despite that, I'm very proud of this fic. The formatting could use work and I wrote it in five minutes but I wrote something. So. Thanks for reading this long. Criticism is appreciated.


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